


Third Chance

by lamardeuse



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 14:42:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets one more chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-series.

  
“So Jennifer and I broke up,” Rodney announced one morning over breakfast, his mouth half-full of eggs.

John felt the impact of the words like a silent bomb going off inside him, quietly rearranging his insides while everything continued around him. Teyla, effortlessly the mother, placed a hand over Rodney's and said, “I am very sorry.”

“Yes, well, thank you. It was actually a mutual decision this time. We were – well. We're still friends – good friends. It's – fine.” John glanced up in time to see another forkful of eggs disappear into Rodney's maw. It wasn't like John was anywhere near objective about it, but Rodney didn't exactly seem crushed. He and Jennifer had been together now for nearly eight months, and John hadn't gotten any indication there was anything wrong. He'd been preparing himself for Rodney to show off another ring soon, for Christ's sake. Not – _this_.

He could feel Ronon's gaze boring a hole in his forehead from across the table. He ignored it.

“Well,” Rodney said finally, and John realized belatedly that some time must have passed, because his bacon was stone cold, “things to do,” and then he was up and out of his chair, and John was left there with Ronon and Teyla staring at him.

“What?” John demanded.

“I believe Rodney was waiting for some words of commiseration from you,” Teyla told him gently.

John took another bite of his bacon and winced. “It was kind of a surprise. I wasn't sure what to say.”

Ronon snorted.

“What?” John snapped again.

Ronon raised his eyebrows. “Just wondering what you're gonna do now.”

John stiffened; he'd confessed his stupid adolescent crush to Ronon in the strictest of drunken confidence. He glanced over at Teyla, but she wasn't looking all that surprised.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” John shot back.

Ronon shrugged. “Maybe I'll do something. Maybe I won't. I don't think I'm the kind of guy she's looking for.”

“Yeah, well,” John muttered into his coffee mug, “you just answered your own question.”

  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“It was kind of like sleeping with my sister.”

John sprayed beer all over his pants. “Jesus Christ, Rodney,” he gritted. He _really_ didn't want to hear this.

“Not that I've –” Rodney waved an unsteady hand.

“Slept with your sister?” John offered tartly.

“Yeah,” Rodney said, obviously distracted. He made a face. “She was too young for me.”

“She's only what? Eight years younger?”

“Nine,” Rodney said, taking another long swallow of beer. “Same as Jeannie.”

“God, please stop talking about having sex with your sister,” John groaned.

“What? No! I mean – she was just really, really sweet, you know? Almost unbearably so. I didn't know – what to do with that.”

John placed his head in his hands. It was only a matter of time before Rodney started giving him details.

“And I don't think she'd ever – um, that is, I don't think she was terribly experienced,” Rodney mused. “Not that that was necessarily bad, it just made me feel weird when she would ask me what I wanted.” He took another drink. “Not to mention perverted, or old, or maybe both. Which is – well, you know, blow jobs aren't exactly all that kinky, but I still felt–”

“Fuck, Rodney!” John vaulted to his feet.

“What?” Rodney frowned, confused.

John flapped his arms. “Just – stop talking!”

“I thought we could talk about these things,” Rodney said, clearly disappointed. “We're friends. Friends help one another through – stuff like this.”

“I'll help you,” John gritted, “but I don't want to know every detail of your sex life, all right?” He knew he sounded a little desperate, but thinking about Rodney and blow jobs had never ended well. Having Rodney in the room _talking_ about blow jobs – that was a recipe for disaster.

“All right,” Rodney said, more than a little sulkily. He downed the last of his beer and set it down on the table. John scooped it up and walked over to his fridge for two more. It occurred to him that drinking more beer was probably another bad idea, but he popped the tops on them anyway.

Rodney took the can from him with a silent nod and held it propped on his knee. After a moment's indecision, John sat beside Rodney on the couch again.

“Want to watch a movie?” John asked. “I got the new _Incredible Hulk_. The one with – uh, what's her name, who played the elf.”

Rodney turned to him slowly. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know,” John said desperately. “The daughter of the guy in Aerosmith. Really good looking.”

“Liv Tyler,” Rodney said slowly, as though John was an idiot.

“Yeah, that's her,” John said, pointing. “I could never figure out how she could be that guy's kid.”

Rodney stared at him some more, stonily silent. “What?” John snapped.

“Nothing,” Rodney said, looking away. “I just thought – I could talk to you.”

And maybe it was the two and a half beers, and maybe it was waiting and waiting and _waiting_ for Rodney to get a goddamned clue after five years, and maybe it was the combined relief and terror of knowing Rodney was available again, but suddenly something in John just snapped like a dry twig and he was leaning into Rodney's space, watching his eyes get big as he drew nearer. “Fine, you want to talk, let's talk,” he snarled. “Want to talk about blow jobs? We can do that, too.”

Rodney licked his lips, and oh, Jesus, John was hard, how the hell could he be hard after two and a half beers and forty years? “John, I –”

John's heart was hammering out a bossa nova in his chest, and it was entirely possible he was headed for a stroke, but somehow he couldn't seem to summon the will to care. “No, I'm serious. Let's share, like _friends_ are supposed to do. Want to know when I got my first blow job?”

Rodney stared at him, his lips parted slightly in what looked like shock. “Um. S-sure?”

“Seventeen,” John snapped. “My soccer coach. He was nine years older than I was, too, but he was really fucking hot, so I let him.”

Rodney had gone past staring at this point; his eyes looked about ready to pop free from his head. “Y-you – you –” he babbled.

John leaned in so that his mouth was a couple of inches from Rodney's right ear. “Want to know when I gave my first blow job?” Not waiting for a response one way or the other, he murmured, “Five minutes after I got my first blow job.”

“Jesus,” Rodney groaned.

Figuring he was screwed anyway, John took Rodney's earlobe between his teeth briefly, felt Rodney jerk in surprise. “It's been a while, but I hear it's like riding a bicycle,” he murmured. “What do you say?”

John thought he could actually feel Rodney's cheek get hot where it was pressed against his, and his whole body suddenly shuddered. “Are you saying – you're not saying –”

By way of an answer, John slid down to the floor on his knees. Rodney made a choked noise when John popped the button on his pants, but that was the extent of his protest, if it had been one; Rodney's cock was already half-hard by the time John tugged it free of his boxers. When John lowered his head, Rodney shuddered again, but made no sound at all.

That kind of pissed John off, so he worked twice as hard as he'd planned, pulling out all the barely remembered tricks and techniques to drive Rodney out of his fucking mind. Rodney stayed silent, but John felt him lean forward, felt his hand flutter over John's hair and glide feather-light down his cheek before finally coming to rest on the curve of his shoulder.

John was the one to break the silence first, groaning around Rodney's cock and sliding his own hands blindly up Rodney's thighs to his hips. “John, John, God,” Rodney murmured, and John could feel something press into the top of his head. The next time Rodney said his name, the word vibrated against his scalp.

“Please, please, just, come on, come here,” Rodney gasped, taking hold of both of John's shoulders and tugging. Reluctantly, John let go and let Rodney pull him up until they were sitting on the couch, until Rodney's hands were in John's hair and John's hand was around Rodney's cock and Rodney was kissing him, wet and sloppy and unfuckingbelievable. When Rodney came he bit John's lip and shook and shook until John thought he might come apart, and it wasn't until Rodney's arms wrapped around him that he realized he was the one who was shaking.

Rodney broke the kiss and led John over to the bed, where John let Rodney take every stitch of clothing off him, then watched him strip. Rodney's hands roamed over nipples, ribs, elbows, belly, then urged him down on the bed, where he kissed John until he was gasping into Rodney's mouth, pleading without words.

“I never knew,” Rodney said, wonderingly, fingers seeking just the right grip on John's cock. “How could I not have known?”

“It's okay,” John managed, arching up when Rodney found perfection, “you know now.” He opened his eyes and saw Rodney looking at him, gaze as intent as it was when he was studying the mysteries of the universe, and John whimpered and shook apart, pieces scattering everywhere.

  


    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

“Hey.”

“Mmmmmm.”

“You, um.”

John cracked an eye open to find Rodney looking down at him, a puzzled expression on his face. “I um what?” John asked, stomach already clenching. Jesus, couldn't he have one whole night before Rodney freaked out?

Rodney winced. “Never mind. It's not – I mean.” He took a breath, let it out. “Okay. Look, I just want you to – will you tell me if something I do pisses you off? Because obviously I haven't had a lot of luck with the whole relationship thing, and I really don't want to – to mess this one up.” He gestured between them. “I mean, obviously the sex is incredible, but I'll do without it, or at least I think I can, if it means I might lose you.”

“Rodney,” John said slowly, because he had a feeling this was about the most important conversation they'd ever had, “have I ever had a problem with telling you when you've pissed me off?”

“No?” Rodney ventured.

John reached up and cupped Rodney's cheek in his hand. “Then don't worry about it. Now, how about we spend some time enjoying the things you do right?”

Rodney's mouth quirked. “Like what, for instance?”

“Well,” John said, pretending to think about it, “kissing might be a good place to start.”

Rodney leaned in. “You think I'm a good kisser, hm?”

“It's still only a theory,” John murmured, running his tongue along Rodney's lower lip. “I need to gather more data before I can be sure.”

“I'll give you data,” Rodney promised, and then proceeded to deliver enough for ten theories. Not that John minded; after all, a rigorous experimental regimen was the cornerstone of scientific discovery.

**Author's Note:**

> First published December 2008.


End file.
